The Weary Traveler
by Golden-Flute
Summary: NO SLASH! Late one night, in a pub close to Mirkwood, a strange Elf stops to rest only to find himself interrogated by a man about the untrue evilness of his own kin.


****

Title: The Weary Traveler

****

Author: Legolas-gurl88

****

Disclaimer: Legolas and Middle-Earth belong to J.R.R. Tolkien. The rest belong to me.

****

Author Note: I thought of this story when listening to a song! Just as a warning, this story might not be for everyone because there is a lot of dialogue in it and some might see it as boring. If you don't like this story, you might like my other one-chappie story 'Haer en Hith' which is _completely_ different. It gets in touch with feelings and inner thoughts and torture. So check it out! Thanks for coming to this story!

Story time!

()o()o()

The sun was half disappeared; its light brightened the beautiful blues, pinks, yellows and purples of the sky above. The world was at peace. Mirthful songs rang out in the open, not a worry or care was thought of that night. In a small town in Rohan, residing in the middle of the Brown Lands, shutters were being closed as children were sent to bed and women said farewell to their husbands. The pub that dwelled on the edge of the village was filled with men, laughing and feasting on meat and alcohol. Barrel after barrel of ale was emptied dry. Well into the night, the songs grew louder and merrier, just as the cheeks of the men grew rosier. Soon, some of the men stumbled home, drunk, to their wives who lay awake in bed, waiting for their husbands' returns.

Very few remained in the pub now, only those without a family to think of. Soon, the pub was empty, save one man who just came in. The pub's lady walked from table to table, taking mugs from tables and dropping them in her bin to be cleaned. She wiped each table with a dirty rag as her husband sat behind the counter, serving up a mug of ale to an old man. The candles that were on the walls were flickering and spitting out. Their wicks had long since been used.

"'Ere ye go. 'Tis our special, tonight." said the pub owner, his voice scratchy from when he joined in with the merry tunes, handing the man his ale. The old man had a long gray beard and gray eyes. Each wrinkle, each worry told a tale of his younger years.

"Thank ye, sir." said the man, paying the pub owner his money. The pub owner gave the man a toothless smile as the customer chose a seat close by. He sat for a while, watching the wife in the back, scrubbing dishes silently, her curly brown hair tied up with a rag to keep it out of her face. Her nose was smudged with ash from the fireplace which she had stoked several times that night.

"'S a chill comin' in tonight." said the man, pulling the collar of his shirt up around his neck. "Reckon every fireplace'll be a'goin' soon."

The pub owner grabbed a dirty mug from the table and began wiping it, looking at the ceiling in thought.

"Bad business, the cold is." he replied. "No one wants to make trips to the pub when they can stock up at home fer the winter."

"Now, we'll get by, don't you worry," said the woman, coming around with the tub to take up more mugs from the tables she had not managed to reach yet, her skirts swishing with every movement. "There's always someone with a cravin' fer our ale."

"Reckon we could bargain wif them Elves." said the pub owner to his wife. "They's s'posed ter have real good wines and ales, 'specially them Mirkwood bunch o' pointy-eared, arrow-shootin', poem-singin' rascals. Maybe a few of them rabbit pellets'll do fer pay."

The customer shook his head.

"Nah, they don' much care fer animal skins the way we do. T'would kill 'em to see one o' their furry friends skinned. They's all in love with nature." He gave a grunt of laughter. "Nature. Who needs it? I can get on right well wifout it."

There was a slight pitter-patter of rain on the windows, tiny droplets sliding down the glass and creating puddles on the sills. Outside, the dirt paths began to get slick and slippery. Anyone who was outside retreated to the comfort of their houses to dry. The woman sighed as the rain fell harder.

"No more business tonight, that's fer sure. Sir," she addressed the old man kindly, touching his arm with her white fingers, "ye can stay as long as ye want ter. We're just going to be closin' up now."

"S' kind 'o ye ma'am." he replied giving a slight head bow in her direction. She grinned slightly and returned to her work of collecting dirty mugs and dishes. The fire made hissing noises as escaped rain droplets traveled down the chimney and dropped into the flames. As the woman stoked it again, the pub owner counted the profits that jangled in his pockets.

"Name's Thymes, by the way." said the old man, taking another great gulp of ale.

"Sirah." replied the pub owner. "An' me wife, Lenséna."

"Elated in meetin' ye, Thymes." said Lenséna, curtseying, then continuing to gather mugs a tub resting on her hip to fill with the dirty silverware. When the wooden tables were cleaned of any dishes or grime, she retreated to the back again and began scrubbing in the soapy water, stinging her tired hands and spattering her skirt. After each dish was cleaned, it was placed in the cupboard where the flatware was kept.

"So, Thymes," said Sirah, "ye know many Elves? Sounds ter me like ye know a lot about them."

"Nah." said Thymes. He lifted his mug to his mouth and drained the last of the amber ale. Sirah grabbed the mug and went to one of the corked barrels, refilling the mug without even asking for more money. Once the mug was back in Thymes' hand, he continued. "Never even seen one up close afore. Only read about them from people who _do_ know 'em. Most o' the Gondorians know plenty Elves."

"What do ye read about them?" Lenséna asked, her head popping out from behind the door to the back.

"There are three main races; Rivendell-- they call it _Imladris_ or somthin', Lothlórien, or Lórien, and the closest to us, and the biggest of the three forests, Mirkwood."

Sirah visibly shuddered, rubbing his left arm absentmindedly.

"I've heard awful things about men who've traveled into tha' forest. If they're not shot to death by the Elves, they're killed by stray Orcs or eaten alive by giant spiders. An' you know what else I've heard? The Elves have made friends with them spiders and have trained them to eat intruders, so whenever a man walks in, they sit back an' _laugh_ as the spider rips them limb from limb!"

"I heard tha' one o' their kind was actually _trusted_ to help the little man take that Ring into Mordor to be destroyed!" said Lenséna.

"Little man?" asked Thymes. "What little man?"

"I forget what they're called," said Silah, taking out a dirty rag, equally as dirty as Lenséna's, and wiped the bar with it. "Somethin' little. Little rascals with furry feet and heads full o' curly hair. Four o' them were taken with the Ring. Along with two Men, a Dwarf, and one of the old Istari, Stormcrow, I think it was."

"Haven't heard from ol' Stormcrow in a while, have we, Silah?" asked Lenséna. Then, she turned to Thymes and explained. "He came in here a long while ago, probably about five years. He was traveling and needed rest, so he stopped here. Drank eight barrels of our ale and still walked out, his path, strait as an arrows'!"

"Well I'll be," laughed Thymes. "Thought only them Elves could do that!"

"Wizards are strange folk, they is. Powerful but dangerous. Just don't get on Stormcrow's bad side or he'll take a whack at you with is great long staff." said Silah. The three of them remained quiet as Thymes emptied yet another tankard and it was immediately refilled by Silah.

Lenséna, who was finished with her chores sat down next to Thymes. "Tell me more about them Elves. They's very interesting creatures."

"Not when one's got a rope tied around yer neck and is hangin' yeh from a tree. They're cannibals, I reckon. Kill everything fer the meat, either that or fer joy." said Thymes. Dramatically, lighting flashed outside and make the three of them jump.

"I thought you said they was one with nature." Silah remarked, leaning over and resting his elbows on the bar.

"Not animal meat," said Thymes and placed his index finger on his throat and pulled it across in a slicing motion. Lenséna gasped and clapped a hand to her throat as if to protect it. Thymes nodded eerily and drank from his mug.

"They're killers?" Lenséna whispered worriedly.

"Every last one o' them."

Another flash of lighting struck, but was echoed by an extremely loud bang. Silah, Thymes and Lenséna all jumped and turned, for the banging sound had come from the front door as it was kicked open by someone. The flash from the lighting had now grown dim and only the outline of the tall figure could be seen. As the stranger took a single step forward and stopped, they could see that a drenched cloak was draped over his shoulders and the hood was pulled over his eyes, and Silah and Lenséna could hardly recognize someone from town by seeing their noses and mouths alone.

It seemed forever that the figure stood in the doorway, staring at all of them with eyes they could not see. Behind him, a white horse was tied to the fence and drinking from the horses' trough that was overflowing from the continuing rain. The traveler (whoever he was) seemed undisturbed by the chill of the rain or the flash of the lighting. His hands were white and his nails clean, unlike anyone in town. On his back was strapped a longbow, a quiver of arrows and two knives. Around his waist, they could see as he threw back the folds of his cloak, a sword rested in a scabbard that was designed by the people of Rohan. It was from that that Silah, Lenséna and Thymes assumes he was from Rohan-- only until they saw two broaches fastening his cloak around his neck-- one was of a leaf, and this had little meaning to the three who stared at the stranger. The other broach was that of Gondorian style.

Silah was the first to assume that this man was a wanderer, because what would a man with the scabbard of Rohan, a broach of Gondor, and mysteriously crafted weaponry be doing so far from any of the boundaries that his articles were from? "Well are ye comin' in or not?" he asked. In answer, the man reached a white hand behind him and closed the door, the next bought of thunder slightly muffled. He walked silently to the furthermost corner of the pub and sat in one of the chairs.

Surprised by this odd behavior, Silah, Lenséna and Thymes could do nothing more but stare at this strange man who stared right back from under his drenched hood that now had droplets of water forming on the edges and were occasionally dripping off and onto his lap.

"What be yer name, stranger?" Lenséna asked, cocking her head slightly, trying to see under the hood. The man didn't answer right away but stared at them as if questioning their reliability. Then, he opened his pale lips.

"Legolas." he said shortly. Yet in that moment of voice, Silah, Lenséna and Thymes felt a new warmth was over them and for some reason, found themselves comfortable where they were, though all three were aching from a tiresome day. Lenséna could have sworn that her heart almost skipped a beat when this stranger spoke.

"Aren't ye cold, Legolas? Would ye like me ter take yer cloak?" Silah offered politely, though he was still slightly suspicious of this newcomer.

"I am fine, thank you." said Legolas.

"Anything to drink?" the pub owner continued, a strained smile appearing on his face.

Legolas paused a moment, observing the onlookers.

"Ale." he answered.

"Comin' right up-- oh-- that is, if you have the money ter pay for it."

"I do."

"Alright." said Silah, bustling around to the back to grab a fresh mug from the cupboard. While he was gone, Lenséna and Thymes continued to stare.

"He's got weapons on him, he does." Thymes growled to himself, his eyes narrowing, and took a sip of his own ale. Lenséna heard, however.

"Pardon, sir." she said to Legolas at her place on the stool at the bar. "My customer is a little bothered by the weapons you carry on your back. Would you mind removing them and stowing them away?"

Legolas nodded and sat up straighter in his chair and pulled his weapons off of his back and placed them behind the chair in the corner, resting up against the wall. Silah came back around with a clean mug and went to one of the kegs and filled the mug to the brim. Then he went around the bar and walked to Legolas, setting the ale down on the table and backing away slowly.

"You are wary of me." said Legolas and Silah stopped in his tracks.

"Well, sir, it's just-- you barge into my pub in the middle of a storm and act a little edgy."

"I am trustworthy." Legolas assured him, grasping the mug and taking a drink of the alcohol.

"Ah, of course." he said. Then, to get the air of discomfort to cease, he turned to Thymes. "What were you talking about before, Thymes."

"Well," said Thymes, turning from Legolas and it seemed that he almost forgot he was there, "like I was sayin', them Elves is surefire killers. Nothin' good about them at all."

"Do they have any friends?" asked Lenséna who became caught up in the conversation of these beings in which she rarely ever heard about.

"Friends?" snorted Thymes. "Nah, they don't have no friends. 'Cept their own kind. The Gondorians seem to have taken a likin' to them, though, what with their King befriendin' the Prince o' Mirkwood an' all an' afterward, marrying the princess of another realm."

"And they don't think that's dangerous at all?" Silah asked.

"Nah. The King… what's his name? Oh yeah, Aragorn-- yeah… he grew up with them Rivendell Elves after his mother dropped him on their doorstep. I'm glad the King left to join the Rangers, otherwise, he would have spent his whole life with those malicious, bloodthirsty creatures--"

There was a sudden slam from across the room and the three looked around to see that their customer, Legolas, had slammed his mug down on the table that rested right next to him.

"What's wrong, sir?" Silah asked. "Is something wrong with the Ale?"

"No." said Legolas, his voice sounding stiff. "It's fine. I am sorry for interrupting."

"Do you know anything of the Elves, Legolas?" Lenséna asked him, shifting around so she could see him better.

"I know my fair share about them." he replied delicately.

"Oh, do tell us." the pub owner's wife said, turning to watch as the hooded stranger let his mug go. Legolas stood up and began pacing.

"The Elves, for one, are a fair race."

"Fair?" snorted Thymes. "Nothin' fair about 'em!"

"They sing of days before the race of men, when only Elves survived. They sing of losses, woes, and deaths, but they also sing of marriages, births, and about the creation of Middle-Earth. The Elves practice with bows and arrows, for that is their strongest field. Because they have the keenest eyesight of any creature alive and can see things from afar, their accuracy with these weapons is excellent."

"What did I tell yeh?" Thymes asked. "They're murderers, all of them!"

"I would not think any race of Elves lower than man, good sir, for the race of Men murders more living creatures than Elves would be able to fathom."

Thymes' features squeezed together in anger, making the lines on his visage more wrinkled than ever before.

"Alright, let's see you prove that!" he challenged. Legolas was silent for a minute then shook his cloaked head and Thymes looked victorious.

"Can you prove that Elves are as bloodthirsty as you say they are?" rebounded Legolas.

"Don't need to. Everyone knows it already."

"Sadly, you are mistaken, Sir."

"Thymes." said Thymes. "Me name's Thymes. An' what do you mean I'm mistaken?"

"Elves are not bloodthirsty. They are a gentle folk, who only kill to rid the world of evil They need not be feared. And I _have_ proved that."

"Oh yeah? How?" said Thymes, his gray eyes becoming more and more beady. Legolas swayed where he stood and the three others watched him, Thymes with a smug look on his face, and Silah and Lenséna looking worried.

"Because I have been here for fifteen minutes and you still remain alive where you stand, even when you test my patience."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Legolas sighed and reached up to his soaking hood. He pulled it down and Lenséna screamed as her customer's long and drenched golden hair was revealed. Silah jumped, dropping the mug he was polishing onto the ground where it broke into a hundred pieces. Thymes jumped out of his seat in shock, his gray eyes widening in fear.

"You're an Elf! I should have known, from the way you made the air sweeter! You mean ter capture us and take us back to your home and eat us alive!"

Legolas's blue eyes shown with anger.

"You insult me with your words, Thymes."

The room was quiet and the only sound that could be heard was Legolas' horse whinnying as another rumble of thunder and flash of lighting sounded. The scene that went on inside, however, was very still. Thymes stood before Legolas, his fists clenched in dislike for the Elf, Legolas' eyes narrowed in anger and Silah and Lenséna standing together, unsure of what to think. When nothing happened for several minutes, Lenséna broke apart from her husband and stepped forward, facing Legolas with a fear in her eyes. He curly hair partially came out of her tie and fell before her face. Legolas' face softened as she stepped forward as he sensed she was a bit nervous and wary of him.

"Lenséna." Silah said tensely.

"What kind of Elf are you?" she asked. Legolas smiled slightly at her wariness of him.

"I am of the Sindarian race, from Mirkwood."

Lenséna eyed Legolas and walked forward, her skirt swishing as she went. Standing a foot away from him, she took his pale hand. Legolas withdrew slightly, but then allowed her to glance at his hand. She touched the palm and let her own fingers run up and down the lines that were formed from hundreds of years of practicing with a bow. Then, she touched the tips of his fingers, both of them had forgotten that the two Men still resided in the room.

"You have fought many wars, Elf." she said finally.

"I am very old compared to you and your husband. Yet I am one of the youngest of all Elves. Still, I have seen many years of battle."

"Why are you here, in our village?" she asked.

"I am on my way home to Mirkwood, to see my father. I would have continued on my trek, but the storm thickened, so I had to stop for a time."

Lenséna looked up into Legolas' blue eyes and she fingered his hair. When she saw the clothes he was wearing, she noticed that the broaches pinning his cloak on him. She reached up and touched it gently. It was cool beneath her fingers, and was still wet from the rain. Though touched with grime from his travels, it shone with an unnatural Elven beauty. It was then she remembered hearing somewhere about the story of the leaf broach he was wearing.

"You were one of the Nine Walkers." she said. Legolas nodded. "The Elf Prince."

"Elf Prince? Bah!" said Thymes. "Nothin' royal 'bout you! Do you prefer to be called 'Your Majesty', or would you rather I kneel in your presence?"

Legolas shook his head in anger and turned on his heel, walking away from where Lenséna stood. He went to the corner and picked up his weapons, strapping them to his back as Silah, Lenséna and Thymes watched. When he was done, he looked back at them.

"I thank you for the ale, Sir." he said to Silah, who nodded slightly. "Farewell, Lenséna, may light touch your path." Legolas bowed his head in farewell and walked to the door. His hand barely touched the rope handle when he heard Lenséna shout.

"Stop!" she said. Out of shock, Legolas let go of the handle so quickly it was as if he had been burned. He turned to face the pub's lady, who was rushing to his side. Silah and Thymes remained quiet. When Lenséna was beside Legolas, she spoke. "It is still stormy and Mirkwood is so far away. We have a spare bedroom upstairs. Would you like to stay the night, or at least until the storm clears?"

Legolas' confused face relaxed as he gazed graciously at the pub owner's wife.

"Not a wise choice, Miss." said Thymes. "He could murder yeh in yer sleep-- or worse; suck out yer soul."

"Now you hush up." said Lenséna, outraged. Thymes growled in his throat.

"Lenséna, Thymes is our customer." Silah warned.

"So is the Elf." Lenséna said. "And should we not show kindness to him because of the rumors of a crazed man? Legolas had been here for a time and none of us is dead."

"Crazed?" Thymes said. "I don't need ter pay ter be insulted. I demand a refund!"

"Never mind." said Legolas, his voice shouting over the bickering of the other three. "Lenséna, I appreciate your offer to house me until the storm settles, but I clearly do not make this man comfortable. It is against my wishes to give your pub, as fine as it is, a bad name for customer service. Good night."

With that, he pulled his soaking hood up over his head and covered his hair, then left through the door and slammed it shut. From inside the pub, they could hear the whinny of his horse and hoof beats growing fainter until they were drowned out by the sound of the pouring rain.

"That Elf didn't pay for his drink!" Silah said after a moments silence took over.

"What did I tell you?" said Thymes. "Cheapskate Elf can't even pay fer a drink! And 'e's supposed ter be royal. Bah!"

"Lenséna, come away from the door, or you'll catch a cold." said Silah, but Lenséna wasn't listening. She was staring at the wooden door blankly, not pay attention to Silah's demand. "Lenséna?"

Lenséna sighed and turned away from the door, her eyes averting those of her husband's, staring instead, at the dirty floorboards that were nailed together under their feet. Sadly, she sat in the stool next to Thymes, watching a spider crawl across the bar, her left arm resting on the edge of the wooden table.

"Weird 'un," said Thymes, still shaking his head at the door in which Legolas had left.

A mile away, Legolas stared back at the little town and sighed. As he rode his horse out of the little down, he had received glares from all passersby men and woman. Rain came down upon his cloaked head and he turned his horse in the direction of his home. Soon he would be home, where people would not think him strange.

But that one act of kindness performed by Lenséna, the bartender's wife would forever be engraved in his mind and he was given hope for the human race where he had not before seen any. With this thought, he rode home through the rain, a weary traveler.

()o()o()

I hope it wasn't too boring! Tell me what you thought. Reviews are totally welcome. Flames aren't. Have a nice day!

Once again, check out my 'Haer en Hith' story with Legolas and Gimli. I like it better than this one anyway: )

May Elves be in your dreams!

Luv,

Legolas-gurl88


End file.
